


The kids aren't alright

by MolestingMusic



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MolestingMusic/pseuds/MolestingMusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am unable to tolerate stress. People tell me it's a motivator, but I feel like it's the opposite. I feel like I'm being crippled under the weight of the world. Even simple tasks terrify me. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of moving forward, but also I'm afraid of staying where I am. I feel like I have lost all control of my life.</p><p>Sometimes I wish I could pull myself from my body and implant it in someone else's.</p><p>Like Pete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The kids aren't alright

I am unable to tolerate stress. People tell me it's a motivator, but I feel like it's the opposite. I feel like I'm being crippled under the weight of the world. Even simple tasks terrify me. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of moving forward, but also I'm afraid of staying where I am. I feel like I have lost all control of my life.

Sometimes I wish I could pull myself from my body and implant it in someone else's.

Like Pete. 

I met him by accident, but my world kept spiraling further and further out of my reach after I met him. He opened my eyes to things I wasn't ready to comprehend. 

"Lesson number one," he says, "you're not fucked up, this world is."

We became friends because I was getting hit on by this chick. Well, this doesn't usually happen, so don't get the wrong impression, but I wasn't too terribly interested. I'm not really sure what he said to her, but she left me alone and before I could comprehend what had just happened he was in front of me…shaking my hand…smiling and telling me we're going to be good friends… Well, I could feel the bile rising in the back of my throat. 

Pete wasn't the kind of guy I'd be friends with. Leery doesn't start to explain how I felt around him. He loved to hang around the girls in school. I didn't think anything of it since he was popular with them, but he liked hanging out with them. Doing make-up, painting each others nails, doing each others hair. He told me he loved sleepovers with girls.

I was ready to call him a lucky son of a bitch. I really was. All the girls adored him.

Insert implantation of myself in him, please? 

"Lesson number two," he continues, "be yourself."

I didn't know who I was. I really didn't. 

I found out I have an anxiety disorder, but I really should have seen the symptoms sooner. I have no idea how long I've had this. Probably my whole life. 

I don't want to say I had a terrible childhood or anything. I mean, my parents didn't violently hit me. I did get smacked from time and again, but I was told that I deserved it. And I always followed the rules.

I couldn't follow the rules at home though. I was just one big mess up and trouble maker there. I tried my best to adapt to these changes, but I just couldn't manage to get myself right at home. I couldn't figure out my priorities. Was homework more important than housework? The answer: sometimes. Was I supposed to socialize with my parents or stay out of their way? Both? Was I supposed to fight for what I personally wanted or follow suit with society? I have no idea anymore. 

My main objective was to make my parents look good. God, did I have trouble with that.

My mother would say, "You can't make everyone happy. Just make yourself happy." She'd smile at me, grin happily, pour a bottle of bleach in my hair to match hers, "You need to look good to make me look good."

My head spins thinking about it.

"Are you ready?" Pete's voice beats on my ear drum.

Somehow, he's talked me into strapping my feet into his snowboard at the edge of a hill. There's a small iced stream over at the bottom. "I don't know about this," I say. 

"I'll be with you every step of the way," he looks so believable. 

We let go and I feel like I'm flying for a good second. I feel like I left my body behind with all my problems. But Pete doesn't have anything under control as we tumble down the hill together and I break my fall with two feet crashing through the freezing stream. Pete's laughing. Well, he is until I punch him. I want to swear at him and call him an idiot, but he has that big smile on his face and I'm so angry that I can't get angry at it. We end up walking back to his house under a big, red moon.

They say red skies at night is a sailor's delight. It must have been red skies at dawn the next morning.

"I knew there was something wrong with that boy!" My mother is on another tangent.

I'm at the dinner table, terrified to pick up my fork. I can't remember the rules about eating (again). Did she want me to watch what I ate or finish what was on my plate?

"Why was he putting on make-up!" My mother was furious.

Me and Pete were hanging out in my room. He accidentally spilled some nail polish on my bedroom rug. I got the majority of it cleaned up.

"I can't ever have perfect things!" She says this as she looks at me. I'm deciphering if she means that my actions messed up her perfect house or if she means me as a whole. "I can't ever have nice things! I don't want you seeing that boy anymore! He's messed up in the head!"

I nod because, really? What else am I supposed to do? I could fight, but that's against the rules.

Pete finds me at school and I'm wondering why he wants to even associate with me. I walk with him down the hall and overhear that Pete's single. Which is a very rare case. He's dated ever girl in school. 

He hugs me and tells me we're best friends. I almost find it hilarious. He has so many friends…and he picks me. 

I joke around with him and nudge him and tell him, "Then, why don't you just ask me out?" I find it weird that I'm laughing at my own joke. Well, maybe not weird, but definitely awkward.

"Are you asking me out?" He asks back.

"What?" I'm confused. I really am.

"Then, yes. I'll go out with you," he smiles and I shouldn't feel happy after he says that.

"What!?" Is all I can say, but I shut up and roll with it when he squeezes my hand.

I bang my head against my locker after he leaves. I broke a rule. I just couldn't follow it though. I'm officially rebellious and a terrible child, but I can't bring myself to turn Pete down. 

My parents are separated, which is why I go visit my dad that coming weekend. I really don't have much to talk about with him. Mom says he's a deadbeat and an alcoholic and she's glad she's no longer with him because he hit her.

It's a horrible thought to cross my mind and I try to stop it, but I almost have the compulsion to hit her myself. My dad was my hero. One would think he was an odd choice for one, but I didn't really care. He gave me something my mother just couldn't. He loved me unconditionally. And even though he didn't have the finical means to support me, he supported me mentally.

"Keep being as hard working as you are and you're going to go far, kid. I'm so proud of you," he'd tell me. 

I can never get used to hearing those words. Call me a pussy, but I'd sit up thinking about it from night to night and cry to myself. Not because it's sad, but because in someone's eyes, I'm not a screw up. I don't really have to be perfect. 

When I walk into the door, he gives me a big hug. My father's scent was a mixture of cigarettes and alcohol. It was a twisted version of a loving mother perfume to me. It made me feel calm. It reassured me things would be alright.

After a heated fight with my mother about my room being messy during finals week, I drove to the nearest gas station and was compelled to buy a pack of my father's cigarettes. I choked on the smoke, but the smell was home.

Pete smacked me the next day when he smelled tobacco on my breath, "What are you doing? That shit gives you cancer!"

"It relaxes me," I shamefully admit.

"Keep smoking and I'm breaking up with you!" Pete hasn't yelled at me like this before.

"Why?" I have to ask.

"Because I've seen people die that way and I don't want to see someone I love end up like that," Pete doesn't even realize what he says until I pull him close and kiss him. He smacks me in the face again and orders me to dispose of the cigarettes and brush my teeth.

We kiss again regardless.

I should have thrown them away the moment Pete told me because when I hid them away in my sock drawer, I was in trouble. I missed the new rule, I guess. No smoking.

I questioned why she was in my room in the first place, but she pushed me against the wall. I deserved it though. I was being insubordinate. I was breaking house rules and if I didn't like her rules, I could live on the street. 

The street wasn't an option, so I stayed and broke every individual cigarette in the trash.

If my mother knew about my real addiction, she'd be furious.

Things were starting to get serious with me and Pete. We did it for the first time. I was awkward, but it didn't feel horrible. After a few weeks though, it got better. I couldn't stand being away from him after that. Time seemed to move slower when he was gone. I felt empty. I felt like something was missing when I was away from him.

Pete became my escape from home. I missed a few visits from my dad because of it, but I managed to stop by one weekend.

My dad spotted my AC/DC shirt and smiled. It was as if a spark lit. We sat down for hours discussing Angus Young's amazing guitar skills and he brought out some dusty records. I loved the sound of records. It sounded clear and vivid, like you're there. He showed me Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. We listened and I felt content.

I smiled up at my dad and he smiled back at me. It was as if I was getting to know my hero. I wanted to open myself up and tell him about Pete. I wanted to tell him about him and how we're in love and how gender didn't mean anything.

Instead it came out, "So, do you have Bowie?"

I cannot,to this day,recall his exact words. I think my brain had tried to repress it. Pretend like it didn't happen. All emotion and life drained from my face after I saw my dad mouth the words, "That faggot?" 

I pressed a smile to my face and nodded along with him. My body was shaky though, like my rusty joints needed to be oiled. I wanted to cry and I did that night. Not because my dad didn't like Bowie's music, but he didn't like him because he was a faggot. And if he didn't like faggots…then he sure as hell wouldn't like me.

I abandoned the idea of telling anyone. No one would understand.

When I saw Pete again, I broke down and cried. I didn't tell him why. I was scared if I did, he'd think I was ashamed of him. I was stuck. I was so stuck.

Stress. 

I went through panic attack after panic attack, but remained calm and composed around people. I became paranoid. Every minute I was with Pete I was looking around, terrified I'd see my mother or one of my mother's friends…or my dad! 

Pete shook me, "Are you okay? You're kind of freaking me out right now."

I pulled away from his touch and looked around once more, "I… fuck… I can't…"

Pete just watched me.

"I can't do this anymore!" I finally blurted out.

Pete continued to watch me, "I think you need to lay down."

I wanted to ask why, but I knew what I looked like in the mirror. I looked like a mess. I was a mess. I felt like a mess. I felt like my chest was sucking me in like a black hole. I shutter and hold my arms, "Pete, I can't."

Pete just laughed and patted my shoulder.

I grabbed it and twisted it, "I can't do this anymore!!" I gasp because I hurt Pete and let his hand go. What was wrong with me!? Why couldn't I do anything right? I'm an awful son, an awful boyfriend, and an awful person.

Pete gave me piercing eyes. They weren't mad or sad or anything. They were just the rattling before the snake bite, "Figure out what you're doing. Call me when you're not such a mess."

When Pete walked away, I realized that just wasn't what I wanted. I wanted him more than ever, but it was impossible for me to make him happy. Not right now. I wasn't happy.

My mother even told me so the next day, "You're never happy anymore!"

I was ready to sit this one out. I was waiting for my body to respond with the same robotic nodding. So, why was i a volcano erupting, "You've never seen me happy because I'm not happy around you! I can't keep up with any of these fucking rules--!"

"Patrick Martin--!" She warned.

"No! No! I'm not happy because I have to always sneak around to see the person I love!"

"Love!? I don't see any girls around here!" She says and smiles because she thinks she has me.

I blow her fucking mind, "I'm in love with Pete!"

We're silent. She looks like she's going to be sick. Her eyes are pits of fire, "You know it doesn't work like that."

"I have never been more sure about anything in my life! If there's anything I do know and that does work, it's Pete!" I scream.

"You can't be gay! You don't even look gay!"

"What does that mean!? Am I supposed to put my gay hat on for you? Am I supposed to look a certain way in order to be gay!?" 

"You aren't leaving," she says and it isn't shouting, "You will not go out there with that boy and embarrass me."

"Embarrass you!?" I stomp toward the door.

She stops me and her eyes look homicidal. Before I can back up she smacks me across the face hard and I fall to the ground. I hear the door lock and she's crying. No, she isn't crying. Tears are falling, but she has a crazed look on her face. Her nails dig deep into my arms, so hard to the point her fake nails are popping off from the cuticles and she's drawing blood. She weeps and shakes me until I'm dizzy, "What have you done with my son!? What have you done with him!? My perfect little son!? I know he's in there! I know he's in there somewhere!?"

I pull my arms away and earn long scratches down my forearms. "I'm right here!" But what am I saying? I've never been there. I've never been able to be her perfect little son. Whoever he is, he's nonexistent. And for a moment, I blame myself. I think it's all my fault. If I could just be good. If I could just listen to her.

"You're not fucked up, this world is." 

She's sobbing into the ground, into the nail polish stained carpet. She's crying, "How could you do this to me!?"

I stop and I cry too. How could I? I see Pete frown in the back of my head and it clicks. Anger boils inside me, "You!? What about me!?" I hold my wounds up, but out of reach of her, "How could you do this to me!? I'm terrified of being myself! You've thrown these rules at me that make no sense! You've stressed me out to the point of dysfunctional! I keep climbing and climbing, trying to reach these high expectation you give me, but I'll never get there!"

"You're not trying hard enough!" She counters hatefully.

"I can't be perfect!" I spell it out for her.

"If you don't follow my rules, you're going on the street! Better yet, live with your dad! Be just like your deadbeat dad! Live alone for the rest of your life and be a fucking alcoholic that can't even support himself! I'd like to see how long you last without me," she's smiling. I can tell by her voice.

The last piece clicks into place, but I don't want to look at the big picture. She's controlling me. She's been controlling me ever since I was little. I am what she wants me to be and if I'm not she'll make sure I can't be myself. She'll strip everything away until I have nothing. She wants me to crawl back to her so I can continue to live this way.

But I can't do this anymore. This is what I can't do anymore. Even if I end up on the street, it's better than kidding myself. It's better than being someone I'm not. I have my own dreams and own ambitions and someone I want in my life. I'd give up everything and more for that one person.

I bolt out the door and I remember falling down the hill with Pete, expect I'm stumbling down the steps. It's just as violent and leaves just as many bruises because my mother is right behind me yelling and throwing my body down them.

When I fall to the tiled ground, I can only think about that free feeling of falling down. I felt like I was flying. I run out the door and start up my car and drive away before I can see my mother's face again.

"You're dead to me! I hope you rot in hell, faggot!!"

I don't go to Pete's right away. I stop the car on the side of the road and get sick. The blood is pooling down my arms and I just can't believe all of that happened. I get sick again because I realize I'm on my own. I don't know what to do.

My phone rings and I'm relieved that it isn't my mother's number. I choke on my own voice, "H-hello?"

"Patrick?" Pete's voice is on the other end, "Thank god! I had this horrible nightmare…"

"My mom knows," I didn't give him a chance to finish.

"Oh, shit! That's worse than my stupid dream! Come over! Are you okay!?"

I just drive. I don't answer. We stay on the phone though, in silence. It's so comforting to know he isn't mad.

He holds me and tells me it's going to be okay. I tell him that it won't. I won't be able to see my siblings again. I won't be able to see my dogs. I won't be able to sleep in a bed with a roof over my head.

He disappears and comes back, throwing a punch at the wall. I could tell he asked his parents if I could stay and they said no. He packs up his things and we walk out the door. They reconsider. If saying no meant throwing Pete out, they would say yes. They didn't do it for me though. They didn't like me. Apparently,I turned him gay.

When I call my dad to ask him if I can stay by his place, he sounds weak. He tells me he's in the hospital. I almost fall over. My hero has crippled before my very eyes. He's not as invincible as I thought he was. My world was falling apart around me.

When I entered the hospital room, my dad looked so much smaller than I ever thought possible. He was in pain, but he didn't want to show it. The doctor told me in was liver cancer. All the years of heavy drinking was taking its toll. When he tells me that he might not make it through the night, I don't know what to do. 

I hug my dad and cry into his chest and he smells just as he always does. 

"I wanted to give you something. It's in the closet in my room," he smiles.

I call up Pete and tell him to bring whatever it is to me. I'm not leaving, but I'm not sure what use I am either.

When I see Pete, he's in the doorway with a guitar in his hands. I take it and my dad nods, as if confirming that it was the right item. He sees Pete and I stiffen.

"This is my friend," I say, terrified. 

He nods once, but I don't know what it means. I strum the guitar once and it sounds like he's taken good care of it. He smiles at the sound.

I eye Pete and he eyes me back. I can't tell him. I can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to know my dad's reaction to me and Pete.

In the hallway Pete asks, "What if you regret it later?"

"It's something I have to live with," I say, "I know what I have to do now."

Pete glances at me.

"I need to live my life the way I want to now. I need to follow my passion," my nerves jump in my skin as I say this though. 

"What about money?"

"Money lost its value after I began receiving child support checks from my dad. Money doesn't replace the time I lost with him," I look back in the room. He's sleeping.

Pete pulls his arms around me and hugs me, "I will do everything in my power to make this work."

"Thank you," I grip him tight and fall apart in his arms. I felt safe there in his arms. Safer than I've ever felt anywhere else. They reassured me everything would be okay as long as we had each other.


End file.
